


Alternative Outcome

by FanfictionReader2015AD



Series: TVShows Episodes Alternative Outcome, Alternative Death, Alternative Universe of Episode, Alternative Episode [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23750923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanfictionReader2015AD/pseuds/FanfictionReader2015AD
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: TVShows Episodes Alternative Outcome, Alternative Death, Alternative Universe of Episode, Alternative Episode [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710940
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Supernatural Episode: The Girl With the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo (Season 7 Episode 20)

**Story Summary**

When Charlie is hacking into Dick’s computer, Dick suddenly shows up and kills her.

Dean and Sam feel very guilty and hate themselves for having gotten Charlie involved in this whole mess.

**Story**

All Charlie could hear around her was the beeping of the computer in front of her and her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly, she heard footsteps get closer to the office and her breathing picked up. She looked around, even though she knew no one was in the room with her.

“Stop being paranoid Charlie, you’re only hacking into the computer of someone who, if he finds you, will kill you, and eat you, and do who knows what else.” She whispered to herself.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, getting back to work. She downloaded 53 percent of the files onto her USB when she felt eyes on the back of her head. She turned around slowly, only to see her boss, Dick Roman, the boss of the Leviathans who wouldn’t think twice about killing her, smiling at her.

“What do you think you were doing Miss Bradbury?” He said with the creepy smile of his still plastered on his face.

Charlie’s breath hitched and she stuttered out, “Oh, I, um, I wasn’t really doing anything. I just thought I lost something in here, but you know what, it probably isn’t here so I should go look somewhere else.” She said with her thumb behind her back, pointing at the door. She tried to seem normal by plastering on a smile of her own but it just looked like she was incredibly nervous, which she was. She started to walk backward slowly when she bumped into something solid, like a wall.

She turned around, and it was kind of like deja vu because there was another Levithan right there and she almost let out a scream. Instead, she bit her lip and tried to be cheerful when she spoke. “Hey Pete,” she said, stretching out the ‘hey’. Her voice came out squeakier than she would have liked. “I was just about to head on home, I was kind of tired, you know. So I’m just gonna go now, bye.”

She tried to make a run for it but her arm was grabbed in a strong grip. She tried to pull her arm out of the way but found herself unable to. She saw her boss’s face morph into teeth, and she knew what was about to happen to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, even as she tried to pull her arm out of the death grip Dick had her in.

“You know, it is such a shame to see someone like you, someone so irreplaceable, be eaten without even getting a peek into your brain first, without trying to figure out why you have such a spark.” Dick’s voice filtered through the sound of blood rushing through her veins, heart pounding so loud she was certain that they can hear her heart beating too.

“Does that mean you’ll let me go?” Her voice cracked and she knew it’s wishful thinking, but, hey, she was about to die, let her be optimistic.

Dick lets out a small laugh. “No,” and then she felt something warm and wet around her head. A tear slipped out of her eye, and she prayed to every god she could think of that Dean and Sam will come to rescue her in time. Even though she wished that she knew it wouldn’t come true. She had lost contact with the Winchester brothers quite a while ago.

Chomp. She knew no more.

“That’s enough Tarrell,” Dick said before Tarrell could eat the whole body of Charlie Bradbury.

Tarrell, who had now transformed into Charlie, looked upset at the idea of not getting to have a perfectly good meal but didn’t argue too much. After all, he didn’t want to piss off Dick and force Tarrell bib himself.

Susan came out of the shadows and stopped near Dick. “Ah, Susan, perfect, check what she was doing before we found her.”

“Yes sir,” Susan said. She stepped over the body and looked at the computer. After a few moments, she looked up from the screen. “She was downloading all of your emails and files sir.”

“Now why would she be doing something like that?” Dick wondered out loud. Neither Susan nor Tarrell answered. They knew he wasn’t asking them. Dick started to walk out of the room, all but forgetting the body bleeding out everywhere.

Before he left the room Susan stopped him with a question. “What would you like us to do with the body of Charlie Bradbury?”

Dick turned around with a slight smirk. “Call Chef Fieri. I feel like having a Charlie’s Ribs and Charlie’s Thigh Steaks and Charlie Burgers tonight.” And then he turned around and left. Susan did as asked and called Fieri, lifting the body off of the ground, holding her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, blood dripping everywhere, but Susan didn’t seem to notice.

Tarrell followed after her silently.

“It’s been too long, we should go in and check on her,” Dean said for what feels like the millionth time to Sam.

“For the last time, Dean, we can’t go in there. It’s probably crawling with Leviathans in there, how do you expect to get past the front door without being spotted!” Sam ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He had been trying to explain the same thing to Dean since Charlie went into the building. Idly he wondered if he should cut his hair, it had been getting pretty long lately.

“You want me to trust a 90-pound girl to be completely safe in a place crawling with Leviathans! She probably doesn’t even know how to defend herself, Sam! She could get killed because of us!” Dean couldn’t understand how Sam, his kind, compassionate baby brother, could be so okay with letting a young girl go into a place infested with human-eating monsters, while Dean was freaking out.

Sam sighed in frustration. “Okay, fine, how about we wait for another 10 minutes before we try calling her. She could just be taking a little longer than she originally planned.” He tried to compromise with his older brother.

Dean thought about it for a moment before he spoke. “Fine, 10 minutes,”

The next 10 minutes passed by impossibly slowly, with Dean checking the security cameras and time every few seconds. It was starting to tick Sam off if he was to be completely honest. Just as he was about to tell his brother to knock it off and stop with all the fidgeting Dean stood up. Sam lifted his head from where it was resting in his palm. “What’s wrong?” Sam was worried once he saw how Dean’s brow pinched.

“Dick just walked out of the building. Charlie’s with him.” Dean grabbed the bottles of borax and ran out to the building.

“Wait for a second, Dean! Dean!” Dean did not wait, he just ran faster. Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Then he ran out as well, grabbing some more borax and a hatchet along the way. Sam made it in time to hear Dean question why Charlie was with the Leviathans.

“Charlie, what are you doing with Dick?” Dean said, holding up a bottle of borax, ready to chuck it at the Leviathans at her sides.

“I should have known it was you, boys who recruited Charlie here,” Dick said and puts an arm around Charlie’s shoulders.

Dean’s brow furrowed even further but Sam couldn’t figure out why.

“Let go of her Dick!” Dean yelled.

“Susan,” Dick said and the other Leviathan attacked. It’s only when she goes to strike and subsequently drops the body, that Sam noticed that she was even carrying a body in the first place. He wondered who it was but he didn’t have time to ponder the subject though, because there was a face full of teeth closing in on him. He chucked a bottle of borax at Susan and she screamed. He could hear her skin hiss as he pulled the hatchet out from where it was tucked behind his back in his belt.

He lopped her head off, feeling the black goo that is a Leviathans blood splatter across his face. He wiped it off and looked over at Dean. He had been trying to get Charlie back from Dick. Dick’s face was slightly burnt and in other places, it was just red.

Just as Sam was going to go help his brother, Dean got Charlie back. Charlie struggled to get away from Dean for a few moments before she looked like she remembered something and stopped fighting.

“‘Kay, come on Sam, let’s go!” Dean yelled before he grabbed Charlie by the arm and started running.

Sam stopped to grab the body that the female Leviathan was carrying, they might as well give the poor fellow a proper burial, before running away as well. As he lifted the body he was shocked at how light the person was, they couldn’t have been more than 100 pounds!

He made it back to the van a few seconds after Dean did. When he did get back he saw Dean pull Charlie’s sleeve up.

“What are you doing?” Charlie questioned. It was odd. Charlie didn't really sound like… well, Charlie.

"Making sure you're not one of them," Dean said while opening a bottle of borax.

"What, but why? I mean I'm obviously me, I'm not a Leviathan." Charlie said nervously. Why would Charlie be nervous?

Instead of commenting on her strange behavior, Dean grabbed her arm and held out to pour borax on her with his other hand.

She struggled weakly for a few seconds before she got her arm out of Dean's grip with strength neither Dean nor Sam thought she had.

Suddenly her face opened up into a set of razor-sharp teeth.

"Thought so," Dean said grimly. He tried to splash not-Charlie but it dodged. Dean cursed under his breath and tried again. It barely splashed the Leviathan but it screamed, all the same, it’s skin hissing and burning.

Sam moved to help his brother but before he could, he had to put the body he was still carrying down. Upon closer inspection, the clothes and bag the body was wearing were oddly similar to Char- oh, it was Charlie. Sam felt his heart sink lower but focused on the battle happening in front of him, one eye on his brother at all times.

He set her body down and went to help Dean, machete in one hand, borax in the other. The Leviathan was now covered in burns, Dean had blood dripping down his arm but that was the extent of his injuries.

While Dean was fighting the Charlie- no, not Charlie, it was a Leviathan pretending to be Charlie, when Dick showed up out of nowhere, and, oh crap, they were screwed. They couldn’t fight him, not yet anyway.

Dean, while still trying to fight the Leviathan that had taken on the form of Charlie, was trying to fight Dick as well.

“Sam!” Dean yelled.

“Yeah, I’m on it!” Sam yelled back. Sam went to take care of the Charlie-look-alike and Dean splashed Dick. Dick went to attack Dean while Sam lopped off the other Leviathan’s head. Black blood splattered his face and clothes yet again, staining the ground in if you didn’t know better, what looked like ink.

It didn’t feel very good, even knowing it wasn’t actually Charlie, to lop off its head. In fact, all it did was make him think of the many women that they knew, that had gotten close to either Winchester's brother, that had died. Their mother, Sam Girlfriend Jessica, Jo, Ellen, Maddie, and so many others, and Charlie. Charlie was now on that list, and that just made him feel worse.

Suddenly, Dick seemed to be pulled back by some unknown force. He slammed into the wall, tried to get up, and was pushed back down again. Sam knew from the moment Dick was pulled back what was going on. He just hoped Bobby didn't lose control of himself and become a vengeful spirit. He didn’t want to have to vanquish Bobby.

That would have just made this already terrible night even worse.

While Bobby was beating up Dick, Dean picked up Charlie’s body from the ground at started running to the car.

"Sammy, let's go!" Dean said while carrying Charlie under his arm.

Sam looked at Dean, then behind him, at Dick, who was still getting thrown all over the place by Bobby. He splashed the Leviathan with some more borax, making his skin sizzle and ran, his screams of agony ringing out behind him.

Once they were both seated in the car, and Charlie's body was safely tucked away in the backseat, they drove off. They knew Bobby would catch up when he needed to.

For a moment he just thought of Charlie. He thought of her love for all things geeky and nerdy. He thought of her courage and bravery. And finally, he thought about how she truly was like her idol, Hermione Granger, and just like Hermione, she went on an adventure, but unlike Hermione, her adventure ended in tragedy.

“How did you know?” Sam asked after a few minutes of silence.

“What?” Dean’s reply was said in a gruff tone. He glanced at Sam for a second before looking back at the road.

“That it wasn’t actually Charlie,” Sam clarified quietly, uncomfortably aware of both the real Charlie and the Leviathan Charlie’s blood on his clothes and arms.

“Charlie, the girl who just found out about Leviathans, and was completely terrified of them, wouldn’t go anywhere near the freaking leader of them, let alone be standing right behind him, letting him put his arm on her shoulder.” Dean’s eyes hardened and this time, he didn’t look at Sam even once, not even from the corner of his eye. His grip on the steering wheel got tighter and his knuckles turned white from the added pressure.

Sam stared at his brother for a little while, taking in the hardened glare he had on the road, the wounds on his arm that were still lazily bleeding, the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and he didn’t know what to say to his brother in response. So instead, he just made a noise in the back of his throat, hoping it didn’t sound as defeated as he felt.

One look at Dean’s face answered that. He sounded just as defeated as he felt, maybe even worse. Sam looked down at his knees, rubbing at them with his arms, a nervous habit he knew he should get rid of, and the conversation died out. 

The rest of the car ride was completely and uncomfortably silent, save for the equipment that Charlie had set up for them. After a little while, they saw Bobby flicker into the car from the rearview mirror. They didn’t say anything.

They went to a small, remote clearing surrounded by forests, big enough to build a funeral pyre. Sam, without Dean having to ask, started to build the funeral pyre while Dean grabbed Charlie’s body out of the backseat.

Once Sam was finished making the pyre, Dean set her down on it. He took out Bobby’s flask from her bag and they poured gasoline on her and the sticks. Dean lit a match and stared at the fire for a few moments before tossing it on the pyre. It quickly caught fire after that.

As they stared grimly at the fire, cremating a girl they knew for barely a day, Sam spoke.

“This is all my fault. I should have let you go in and check on her. Because of my decision, she- she’s dead.” Sam felt his eyes get blurry, he had tears in his eyes, he realized after a moment of consideration, but he didn’t understand why. He’d seen so many people die, friends, family, random strangers, but it never hurt quite like this.

“You know this isn’t your fault Sammy,” Dean said in a low voice. And Sam knew, he knew his brother too well after all these years, that Dean blamed himself.

“It isn’t your fault either Dean,” Sam said in the same low tone as Dean. Dean didn’t respond for a little while. Sam knew that that wasn’t enough for his brother to stop blaming himself.

Dean may act like a big tough guy, but Sam has been studying his brother since he was four years old, has seen his brother at his worst, has seen how much he hates himself. His brother may act like a big tough guy but at the end of the day he took every death he saw to heart, and he was very much affected by every death, every single one of them. And the younger they were, the more it affected him.

“You know, she was kinda like the little sister I never wanted,” And that would explain it. Dean saw her like family, and dammit Dean, you know better than to start seeing people like family.

For as long as Sam could remember, his older brother had been taking care of him, keeping him safe, making sure he never got hurt. Their father messed Dean up so badly that Dean thought that he had to protect Sam. That Sam was the only thing that mattered. That it didn’t matter what happened to Dean as long as Sam was safe. And as Dean grew, the list of people he had to protect grew too. Soon, everyone Dean met became Dean’s responsibility, and if that person was a child, or a younger sibling, that need to protect them intensified. If Dean thought of Charlie as a little sister than Sam knew that her dying would mess with Dean’s brain in ways Sam couldn’t even comprehend.

Sam looked over at his brother, and he looked so much older than Sam knew Dean was. The years of hunting had not been good to Dean. Not when Dean was such a bleeding heart. And Sam also knew that his brother would never change, and, truth be told, he didn’t know if he wanted Dean to change. Dean wouldn’t be Dean if he stopped being such a bleeding heart.

Upon closer inspection of Dean’s face, he could see that his brother’s eyes were wet with tears as well, but Sam wouldn’t mention it, just like how he knew Dean wouldn’t mention the tears in Sam’s own eyes.

Just then, Bobby flickered in and out of existence a few times before he stabilized completely a few feet away from them. He slowly walked up to them and, once he sees Sam and Dean’s face, he put an arm on both boys' shoulders.

“Now, I bet I know what you two are thinking, so I’m just gonna say this right off the bat. This wasn’t either of your faults. It was just an accident. You didn’t send her in so she could die, it’s just that sometimes life doesn’t work the way you want it to.”

Bobby said all of this but Bobby himself didn’t really believe what he was saying and both brothers knew this, and because both of them knew this, neither Sam nor Dean really bothered to listen. They just continued to let their thoughts swirl around in their minds.

Bobby sighed but didn’t say anything more.

After some more time passed Bobby flickered out of existence, back into his flask, and it was a few minutes after that that Sam treks away from the pyre and the van, leaving Dean to continue staring at the fire by himself. Sam knew Dean could use a little alone time, and, you know what, so could Sam.

After Sam left Dean alone by the pyre, he went to another remote part of the forest where he could get all of his anger and frustrations out. He tried to calm down at first, taking in deep breaths through his nose and slowly releasing them through his mouth but that got him angrier. It built up so much that he just turned around and punched a tree instead.

It helped so he did it again and again and again and again. He continued to punch the tree until his knuckles bled and even then he continued to punch it some more. He continued to punch the tree until he felt tears stream down his face.

He sank to his knees and pushed at his eyes with his palms, hoping he could stem the tears. It didn’t work and tears continued to flow past his palms.

His frustrations of what happened to Charlie, and the fact that he was crying swirled together with all his feelings of sadness, hurt and anger, all combined together and they got the better of him yet again but his hands were all bloody, so instead, he bit into his left arm while he used his right hand to grab fistfuls of his hair.

His screams of frustration and sadness, and who knows what else, were muffled by his arm and he almost bit down hard enough to draw blood. This continued for quite some time, Sam’s head assaulting him with what-if’s and all the people he’d lost and he hated how Charlie’s face popped up in his mind.

When the tears got to be too much yet again Sam curled up into a ball. His brain knew it wasn't Charlie but this little voice in the back of his head, the same one that convinced him that drinking demon blood was a good idea, kept whispering, 'You killed her! How can you be absolutely certain that you didn't kill Charlie, not the Leviathan?! If you didn't tell Dean to wait she would still be alive!' and Sam hated how he agreed with the voice.

Sam kind of felt like he was underwater. Everything seemed off and he couldn't breathe. Logically, he knew he was having a panic attack so he tried to focus on his breathing. After a few minutes, or maybe it was hours, Sam wasn’t really sure, of continuously trying to calm down, he finally got his breathing under control.

Sam then checked the time and upon seeing how late it had gotten, he decided he should start heading back to the clearing where the fire should be dwindling out.

He scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve one last time to make sure he didn't have tear tracks staining his face before starting the long walk back to his brother and the ashes of a girl whose life was cut down too short.

All Dean could think about was that it was his fault. What if he hadn’t listened to Sam and had gone to check on her? What if he hadn’t let her cut off all communications? What if he had somehow found a way to sneak in with her? What if they had never met? And Dean knew the answer to all of these questions.

She would still be alive.

He knew that his little brother blamed himself but it wasn’t his fault. Sam wasn’t to blame for what happened to Charlie, it was his fault, he was the older brother, he should have known better. He had so many more years of experience, so many more years with their father training them, and, even as a child, Sam didn’t want to be a hunter, he didn’t really care about the lessons their father had ingrained in them, but Dean, Dean had listened, had cared. If even with all the knowledge their father had imparted on them, Dean couldn’t save one girl it was all his fault, no one else’s.

Dean was poison, he knew he was. There was a trail of dead bodies and broken minds wherever he went. Everyone he knew died or was tortured and he didn’t know if he could continue doing this job if everyone kept getting hurt if they got close to him.

Even though Dean didn’t know Charlie very well, he knew Charlie was a spunky, if not geeky, a young girl who had her whole life ahead of her. Even though she was terrified, and didn’t truly understand what was going on around her, she wanted to help, she wanted to save others.

Charlie had truly reminded him of himself and Sammy. Sam was always such a scaredy-cat as a child; he didn’t know anything about the true horrors of the world and depended on Dean to keep him safe.

Dean was an older brother. And as an older brother, his job was to protect. He failed to do that today, and he continued to fail in doing so every day. His dad, his mom, Bobby, Jo, Ellen, Frank, and so many others were dead because he wasn’t good enough. And now he had to add Charlie’s name to that ever-growing list.

After Sam and Bobby left him to keep vigil at the still-burning pyre by himself, he thought of the heat of the fire, the swirling thoughts, the realization that he wasn’t good enough, that he would never be good enough, and suddenly Dean was reminded of his father.

John was a much better man, and a much better hunter, than Dean would ever be, of that much, Dean was certain. John never questioned if he should be a hunter, he never hesitated when it came to saving others, unlike Dean. And John never, ever, let an innocent person do his job for him. He trained Dean to do the same but he never was as good as his father, or even his brother for that matter of fact.

Then he wondered what it would have been like if he did indeed have a sister like Charlie. Sure, there would be the added pressure of making sure she was safe at all times, but even without Charlie being his sister he had felt that pressure all the time, the need to protect everyone around him, but Dean felt like it would have been nice, that it would have been worth it.

She seemed like she would have fit in well with their family.

But then that brought back the topic of the fact that she wasn’t a Winchester. She was just an average everyday girl who didn’t ask to be thrust into their world. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, and Dean would no longer be Dean if he didn’t get revenge for Charlie. He would kill Dick Roman and all of the rest of the Leviathans if that was the last thing he ever did.

**Ending**

Part of him wondered why, out of everyone he had met, Charlie, a girl he had known for less than a day, would be the one whose death affected him so much, but he didn’t question it too much. He had long given up trying to understand his own emotions.

He wished Castiel was here. He wished Cas could have some unknown way to save her, or to reverse time, anything to stop Charlie from getting involved in this but he knew that was just wishful thinking.

Dean kept thinking like this, in circles, for what felt like forever, when out of nowhere he suddenly felt the world was blurry and wobbly. His eyes burned from keeping then open for far too long, and from the heat of the fire, and he was forced to blink a few times in rapid succession.

‘When did it start raining?’ He thought as he felt something warm and wet trailing down his face. After a few moments, he vaguely realized that ‘Oh, I’m crying,’ and he scrubbed at his face.

They wouldn’t stop falling down his face and he got frustrated. He wasn’t a girl, he shouldn’t be crying over something like this. Great, another reason why he wasn't good enough. He cried for no reason.

Tears slipped past his eyes yet again, and just like before, he angrily scrubbed his old, worn but well-loved, green jacket against his eyes.

After another ten minutes, the fire started dwindling out, crackling and popping, and he continued staring at the embers until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see it was his baby brother.

Sam had red-rimmed eyes, and his hair was slightly disheveled as if he’d pulled on it. His knuckles were bleeding too but Sam either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Come on, let’s go,” Sam said and Dean noticed that his voice was hoarse and cracking slightly.

Knowing Sam as well as he did, he had practically raised him after all, he knew that he had probably cried and screamed for a while. Most likely gotten angry and pulled at his hair a bit too. Punched something for a while too. Considering they were surrounded by forests Dean deduced that Sam was probably punching trees.

But, even after figuring all of this out, Dean didn’t vocalize anything. He knew his brother wouldn’t appreciate it. Instead, he pretended he hadn’t noticed anything.

Sam started to walk out of the clearing and Dean followed, looking back at the pyre one last time before turning around and leaving.

He jogged to catch up to his younger-yet-still-frustratingly-taller brother. He tried to cheer him up by wrapping an arm around Sam, giving him a side-hug for a quick second before giving him a noogie.

He hadn’t done that since Sam was a small child. It felt good to behave like the little kid who didn’t have to deal with constantly feeling like he wasn’t good enough.

That feeling quickly disappeared as he thought of Charlie, and if she would react like Sam, who brushed Dean’s fist off and shoved him away playfully, or would she act more like Dean, who would have gotten out of the hold and returned the noogie, making it twice as painful. Charlie seemed like she would have done a mix of both.

Dean stopped and let Sam walk ahead of him for a moment. He turned around, looking back at the smoldering embers again. “Goodbye, Charlie Bradbury,” Dean said, his voice getting carried away by the wind. He turned around, and this time he didn’t look back, not once, and caught up to his brother. They made it back to the car in a somber, if not, uncomfortable silence.

Bobby joined them in the car not too long after as they drove away from the clearing, and the memory of Charlie Bradbury, silently.


	2. DC's Legends of Tomorrow Episode: Out of Time (Season 2 Episode 1)

In the year 1693 in Salem, Massachusetts, Sara Lance, the White Canary and member of the Legends, was being led to her death. It was slightly funny to her that they thought that they could kill her, she'd been training ever since she was a high schooler. After her father had found out she was being bullied, he taught her and Laurel self defense. After being stranded on Lian Yu, Nyssa had found her, nursed her back to health, and the League of Assassins had trained her. She could hold out on her own, especially if her opponents were some villagers who didn't know the first thing about fighting and picked on women just because they could.  
They walked into a large forest, the trees seemingly going on forever. The wind whistled through the branches, adding an eerie feel. It was quite fitting, considering what the large group was going into the woods for. Sara, knowing she could get out of whatever precarious situation she was in, wasn't too worried and followed the men grabbing her arms, hands tied together with rope, without a fuss. They would probably feel better if she entertained them a little before leaving anyway.  
The party made their way deeper into the stretch of woods, bugs, and other animals skittering away from the humans with pitchforks. The air was damp and humid, making it uncomfortable to breathe as the villagers marched Sara to the execution site. It didn't make sense to Sara, why they would execute her in the woods when they always burned the women at the stake. Wouldn't the forest just catch on fire? It was illogical to her though she didn't voice her thoughts; the stupid men would just get angrier.

Sara thought about what she'd done to garner execution. All she had done was sleep with a few women. It wasn't something overly huge. She'd done it all the time in the present, or was it future now that she was in 1693? Sara didn't quite know what to call it, time travel was a headache when it came to tenses. Yet, though what she'd done wasn't a very big deal to her, to the villagers living in Salem, Sara had 'corrupted the women'. Was it so wrong to like the same gender? Sara didn't think so.  
It was all probably due to the sexist and closed off mentality of this era. Sara knew it wasn't right to clump everyone of an era together, call them all close minded, but, at the end of the day, that was what they were. At least, that was what Salem was like.  
The men of Salem would accuse innocent women of things like being witches and cruelly murder them by burning them at the stake for non-existent crimes, for things that they had no proof for. And even if the women were witches, it wasn't like they were harming others. They were just living their everyday lives when suddenly, villagers would come knocking at their doors, darkening their doorsteps, pitchforks, and torches in hand, calling them cruel  
names and shouting for their deaths.

The group of men, prisoner in toe, ventured out into the darkness, grim expressions on their faces. Sara didn't know why they looked somber though, she wasn't even from their town. She was a random girl looking for a hookup. She had no connections to any of the men there. Maybe it was that they didn't like executing women? But that didn't explain why they did it so often then. Honestly, though, Sara didn't know, nor did she care.  
As long as this done and over with quickly, she would be happy. Sara had to wonder, though, what exactly was taking Ray and the others so long. They should have been here by now. Well, it didn't matter as long as they showed up in time for her to make her great escape.  
She took a good look at the others around her. It was clear from their attires that they were illiterate villagers, easy for the more wealthy and intellectual of the town to manipulate, but there were a few men dressed slightly differently from the others. They seemed like the previously mentioned wealthy and intellectual of the group seeing as how they appeared to be leading the mob.  
The reason everyone had gathered that day was to put an end to Sara's, supposedly, heinous acts and hang her for her imagined crimes from the tree in the middle of the woods. It was quite surprising, seeing the number of people present for something like that.

The men escorting her to the tree were armed with staff and pitchforks, ready to stab her with them if she attempted to escape. Sara was forced to walk before them, her wrists locked tightly in ropes. The villagers exchanged glances while walking, Sara keeping silent through most of the walk, her eyes lit with a fire from within.  
Despite the neverending walk, they finally reached a clearing in the middle of the wood, where a handful of men and women had already gathered. They eyed Sara waspishly, and one of the women spat at her while she was being brought in. She was the one she had tried to get together with before all of this happened. Of course, as one could tell from her reaction, Sara had been rejected. Part of Sara wondered if that woman was the one who'd told the men of the village what she was doing, but she was unable to dwell on it as she was pushed forward to the center where noose ominously hung from a tree branch.

Sara had to admit, she was slightly surprised. She had thought that the villagers would try and burn her at the stake, hear her tortured screams as she felt her skin blister and burn, leaving nothing but charred bones and the horrible sickly sweet smell of burning flesh in its wake. Sara then decided to ask. If they had decided she was going to die, she might as well be a little snarky before she escaped.  
"What, not gonna burn me at the stake like all the others?" Sara said with a smirk. Pissing others off was her specialty.  
"Be quiet, witch!" One of the men escorting her said, pressing his pitchfork into her back, not quite breaking skin though if he pushed any harder, the weapon might. She leaned forward just slightly, not enough to alert anyone she was in any discomfort, she would never give these villagers the pleasure of seeing her squirm, just enough so that the pitchfork didn't feel like it was pressing quite so hard.  
"Vile witch! You have corrupted the women of our village!" Shouted one of the robed men.  
He was one of the leaders who had incited villagers into hanging countless women before Sara, for no reason other than the rush of power he got in doing so, his wicked gaze taking pleasure from seeing Sara in ropes. Sara almost wanted to punch him, no, she did want to punch him. He deserved it for all the pain he'd put countless women in.  
What did those women ever do to him? They just wanted to live peaceful lives with their families, their husbands, children, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters. But all that got taken away from them, their very fundamental human right to live, by a man who went a little power crazy. How was that fair?

None of those women ever even got to stand up for themselves, their very thoughts being brushed aside by others just for being born as girls. It wasn't as if they chose what they were born as they had no control over something like that. Why did one gender have to be considered better than the other? Who decided men should be considered to be more powerful than women, that women should be looked down upon even though they took care of so much more than the men ever did.  
While men went to earn money and hunt, a very important job, Sara understood that much, but women did practically everything else, yet they were still considered inferior gender. Why was that okay?  
"My defense, they were happily corrupted," Sara spoke without even a hint of regret. Instead, she smirked, seemingly enjoying the dangerous situation she was in. She flirtatiously cocked a finger and winked at a young woman standing nearby, one she'd been with almost two days before, who shrugged and let out a sheepish smile.  
"Hang the witch! Hang the witch!" Everyone began shouting at the top of their lungs, the villagers working themselves into a frenzy.  
Sara smiled and not even slightly bothered. She bobbed her head up and down to their chants, almost looking as if she wanted them to be louder. She looked up at the noose and smirked at the sight. The rope swayed slightly, looking ominous as the sun beat down at everyone gathered there from overhead, the branches casting shadows over the noose, and the tree leaves rustling in the breeze.  
She looked all around her while everyone stared back at her angrily. The only ones who refrained from screaming for her death were a few young women who Sara had been with earlier, the woman she had teased just moments ago being one of them.  
"What are you waiting for? Hang her!" One of the men holding a staff with both his hands shouted at the executioner.

Sara seized the opportunity and grabbed the stick from the man who was standing next to her, much to everyone's alarm. She got hold of the staff and kicked him in his stomach, knocking out another with the staff, her body moving beautifully in a flurry of movements. The men scrambled back, and the women let out startled cries.  
Sara managed to get the man down and proceeded to attack the ones that came for her from behind. They fell to the ground with one blow, and now the only thing that kept her under control was the ropes binding her. She held the stick in her hand and pointed it against everyone in the circle, daring anyone to attack her. The men gathered around her with their arms wide open to keep her from getting away.  
The breeze hit stronger this time, and Sara's wavy hair danced to it. "Stay away! Move!" She shouted at the men.  
While she was busy threatening the group, one of them snuck in from behind her and grabbed her. Sara struggled against his grip, trying unsuccessfully to kick him off, but another man snatched her stick out of her hands and grabbed her hair in order to get her under control. Sara cried out in pain and agony, feeling strands of her hair being ripped out of her skull.

He proceeded to push her to the ground, and Sara landed on her face with a hard thud. Her head started throbbing, and black spots danced before her eyes as she blinked, trying to clear her vision. Great, the man had probably given her a mild concussion with his... large body pressing all of its weight against her. The dust floated up around her, and she spat out what flew into her mouth.  
"Wicked witch! I'll show you," The villager who was carrying a pitchfork yelled and yanked her up by her hair. The woman who was standing next to the tree spat on her again, and Sara glared at her in anger. Where were her accomplices? Where was everybody? No one had come to her rescue.  
A man brought a tree stump and placed it below the noose.  
"This will teach you," the robed man with the wicked gaze said, a mad gleam in his eyes.  
Sara was roughly shoved towards the tree and was jabbed with a pitchfork below her knees when she refused to climb onto the stump. She winced in pain and climbed onto the stump reluctantly. The man, who had been appointed as her executioner, climbed on to a stump similar to hers. He tried to put the noose over Sara's head, but Sara kept dodging her head as his attempts got rougher.  
"I'll kill all of you for this, don't think you can get away," She muttered under breath and began cursing at the villagers for committing this injustice against her. "Evil bastards, you shall be punished for this! Curse you all! Curse you to hell!" She shouted at them, frantically trying to loosen the ropes, get them off.

The man hit her again, and she groaned in pain. He motioned for one of the men in the crowd to come forward and help him. One of the scrawnier men of the village came forward, grabbing the noose from the executioner while he held Sara in place. Holding the loop steady, the tiny villager placed it around her neck, even as she tried to avoid it, the executioner grabbing at her neck to hold it steady enough that the noose would smoothly go over her head.  
Really, this woman was such a hassle compared to the others. At least they didn't struggle nearly as much as this one.  
"Got something to say for yourself now?" He asked in a deep baritone voice, and Sara could just hear the smirk in his voice.  
Just like the head villager, this man was taking pleasure in killing helpless women. It caused her blood to boil, and she struggled harder, wanting to at least punch his face in, make him suffer. Of course, on the outside, it just looked like she was struggling harder to escape her inevitable death. It was annoying to think about, she hated when people thought of her as weak, but it was fine as long as she could get revenge.

Sara angrily spat at him, saw as his face turned red with anger, veins popping out onto his face, and the executioner felt his temples burning with rage. He snatched the rope from the nameless villager, scaring the poor man, and frantically tightened the rope around her neck. He climbed down a few seconds later, a smirk on his face at the thought of her painful, torturous death.  
He went and stood a few feet away from her. Sara stood there with her hands tied, looking grim. "You shall have your punishment for your nasty deeds. Die in pain, you wicked witch!" Shouted the robed leader of the group and gestured to the man to proceed with the hanging with a sharp look.  
The executioner nodded in approval, looked up at Sara, and kicked the wooden piece beneath her feet away. The rope dropped, pulling down with Sara's weight. She struggled, as much as she didn't want to, she couldn't help it. Her airways were closed off with strong, unmoving pressure on them, and Sara's legs flailed. That only made it worse, though, as she lost more of her air as she did so.

She tried to stop, had managed for half a second, before instinct took over again, forcing her to try and struggle away from whatever was trying to stop her airflow, trying to kill her.  
Her lungs burned, screaming at her to give them air, and she tried, she really tried. She gasped for a breath, the noise coming out as a raspy whisper, swallowed by the sound of the cheers.  
Her legs thrashed around, trying to find stable footing so she could get this stupid noose off of her neck, so she could get even a mouthful of air, but there was nothing under her but air. Air that would never reach her lungs. If nothing else, she hoped that if she thrashed enough she would be able to kick at least one of the villagers, hopefully, one of the leaders, in the face. If she was dying anyway, she could at least make someone else’s day a little more terrible. It was the least she could do considering they were, you know, murdering her.  
As she hung there, seeing a creepy, perverse grin on the leaders of the village, all of the men wearing slightly altered robes, that lot was getting off on seeing her struggle in vain, Sara couldn't help but think of her sister, her father, and... and Nyssa.  
It was funny when she was struggling for breath and borderline dying, the person she would think about would be Nyssa. Because, of course, it was. She loved Nyssa, she really did, but it just wasn't- she couldn't- Sara knew she was just making up excuses. She was scared of how serious their relationship had become, didn't want Nyssa to get hurt because of her enemies. It was a useless worry, Sara knew that Nyssa was the daughter of the leader of the League of Assassins after all. If Ra's al Ghul didn't want anything to happen to Nyssa, nothing would happen.

Still, the thought of someone going after someone she cared about hurt. Sara didn't want people she loved to get hurt because of her anymore. It wasn't fair to them, and it wasn't fair to her.  
She then thought of her sister, Laurel Lance, the Black Canary. She'd fractured their relationship on her own, and she regretted it now, but that wouldn't change the past. And no matter how hard she tried to justify it, it wasn't something that was justifiable. She'd heard once, that her sister hadn't been able to mourn for her during the five years she'd been pronounced dead. She had been too angry, too hurt and sad, all kinds of conflicting emotions surfacing, that Laurel hadn't known how to deal with them. And wasn't that painful to hear.  
For as much as she pretended not to, Laurel really meant a lot to her. She would think back to when they were young, back when they would play with each other, and just have fun, but then they grew up and went down their separate paths. Again, it was all Sara's fault, she understood that much. Sara had been the one to rebel against their parents, wanting Oliver to like her even though she knew that Laurel liked him too, and Sara was the one who had tried to get Oliver to cheat on Laurel with her.

She thought of her father. Sara wasn't particularly close to Quentin, not like Laurel was, but, again, that was Sara's fault. Her father had tried, he really had, but Sara being a rebellious teenage daughter of a police officer had put a strain on their relationship. Even after she'd grown, Sara could plainly see that Quentin was closer to Laurel, her older sister had always been everyone's favorite. She didn't hate her sister for that, even Sara had to admit that if it came down to it, Sara or Laurel, she would pick Laurel any day.  
Why was it that when she was dying, she could only think of relationships she had ruined at her own hand? Why couldn't she think of someone that she hadn't burned the bridge to?

Sara knew, the voice in the back of her head whispering to her, that it was because all of these relationships, the ones she'd destroyed, were the ones she cared about the most. She would never say it out loud, would never tarnish her reputation, give her enemies a weapon against her, but, if she was dying anyway, she might as well admit it.  
But then, as if to directly oppose her thoughts, Sara thought of her mother. Dinah had been closer to Sara than to Laurel, one of the only people. Nyssa was another. Her mother hadn't taken her 'death' very well. Granted, neither had her father, he'd even blamed Oliver when he'd returned, as had Laurel, but her mother had been a mess, blaming herself for letting Sara go on the Queen's Gambit. Though Sara wouldn't have listened to her mother even if she did try to stop her. Actually, her mother had tried to stop her, only for

Sara to ignore her. She'd also been the only one to believe Sara was still alive after Oliver had come back, even when no one else thought so.  
Then, her thoughts drifted to Oliver Queen, or as she called him, Ollie. Their relationship was a complicated one; she'd had a crush on the man a while back, moving on when she'd started dating Nyssa, and it had ruined both of their relationships with Laurel. It was mostly her fault that both her father and sister held a small grudge against Oliver. They had been good friends as children, and even now, they were good friends, but somewhere in the middle, they were something more. It had taken her a long time, but, eventually, she realized that being with Ollie wasn't worth it if all it did was hurt her sister. She didn't want to do that, not any more than she already did. She couldn't keep doing that to her sister, herself, or even Ollie.  
Even if he never said it, Sara knew that going behind Laurel's back had really hurt him. Though for a brief moment, the two of them had been happy, in the long run, it had been a terrible mistake. A mistake that had hurt, destroyed relationships. And those relationships had taken time, lots and lots of time, to mend. If Sara could take back even one thing she'd done in her life, it would have been the moment she'd gone on the Queen's Gambit.  
This whole mess, becoming a vigilante, having to try and fix relationships, becoming a member of the Legends, none of it would have happened if she'd never gone on the Queen's Gambit for a little fun with Oliver. Though she did enjoy most of the things, the pain and sadness they brought with them wasn't something she'd put anyone through.  
A random thought then popped into her head. Was her life flashing before her eyes? Was that why she was remembering so many people while she was being hung to death?

She would have laughed a little had she had the breath to do so.  
Her head started pounding, the lack of air finally making itself known again, her thoughts not enough to make it background noise. She raised her still bound arms, scratching at her neck, trying to pull the rope away, trying to relieve the pressure even if only slightly.  
The ropes chafed the skin of both her neck and her wrists from her struggling and she could feel the blood start to pool in between the cracks in her skin and the ropes, uncomfortable and gross, though that was the least of her worries. Her vision started to get spotty, black spots dancing around even as she thrashed about, hearing cheers, and a few cries from the crowd. For a second, Sara locked eyes with the leader of the mob, seeing the crazed look in his eyes.  
He was a psychopath, clear, and simple. He took joy in women getting killed. Why though? What had women done to him? Why was he allowed to play God, choosing who lived and who died? Sara was quickly losing hope of surviving this, but she hoped that the Legends would show up, hopefully, save her just so she could murder that conceited asshole herself.  
Speaking of which, where were the Legends? Why weren't they here yet? Ray wasn't exactly the type to be late. Why was he taking so long? Just as the black spots overtook her vision completely, Sara heard the sound of trees rustling. She tried to turn to look, wondering what it could possibly be, but she didn't have any strength left. She wanted to call out, see if it was the Legends, but she didn't have the oxygen required.

Everything felt too bright, too loud, just too much. She could hear her heart beating her ears, could feel it when her head started to pound in sync with it, the loud noises coming from the crowd just barely below her not helping at all. She closed her eyes, it was too bright and she couldn't see it. The sun felt too hot, the breeze too cold, her senses going in overdrive, the pressure building in her neck getting worse and worse by the second and she wanted it to be over. She didn’t care if she died as long as it stopped.  
She tried lifting her arms to try and lessen the pressure on her neck, to get some oxygen to her aching brain, but her arms felt like a dead weight. She felt like she couldn’t blink, let alone move her arms.  
The darkness took over completely, Sara falling limp, and she whispered a soft 'I'm sorry,' in her mind to everyone she would be leaving behind. She could distantly feel the pain in her neck get worse and worse until the snap. Her head lolled, only connected to her skin by the thin skin. If Sara hadn’t been hung up by a rope, the bone definitely would have been protruding from her skin at an odd angle, looking like the thing of horror movies and nightmares.

The villagers watched as Sara fell limp, dangling on the tree, dead and cold. The villagers left soon after that, a few of the women Sara had seduced staring for a few seconds longer before their family members dragged them away with the threats of also being hanged if they ever pulled any stunts like that again.  
The leaders of the village followed after all the villagers, the dumb, easily manipulated villagers, doing their biddings without much question all because they were wealthier and smarter than the others, a few minutes later. They stayed so they could stare at the cold, lifeless body, wondering who they should rally the villagers against next.  
Maybe one of the women that this... witch had seduced? Or that woman that had looked scared when they had passed by, fearfully rushing away? Her daughter had been burned at the stake, not even a month before. The daughter had really given such a good reaction, maybe the mother would be the same.

After a few more seconds, the leaders of the village had finally decided; they decided on something they hadn't done in a while, but they were the most fun to hear the screams of; a small child the age of ten. They had only been able to burn two children before, it was hard to find a good enough excuse to get the men of the village to rally against children, but those hunts were definitely the best.  
The child they had decided upon was a loud, outspoken one, uncommon for girls. She even paraded around in boy's clothing, had once even gone so far as to say she was a boy in public. If she was going to behave that way anyway, they might as well teach the women a lesson. If they dared to act in such an unbecoming manner of a woman, they should be prepared to face the consequences. Nevermind that hearing the screams of women as they burned was pleasurable. That was just a secondary thing.  
Instilling fear in others, warning them of their power was much, much more fun.

The heads of the village left the forest, giving the excuse of making sure the witch really was dead, not just casting some sort of spell to get everyone to leave before escaping, only to come back and kill them. The stupid villagers believed them easily enough, praising them for their quick thinking, and went about their day as if they hadn't seen just seen someone hung  
to death, writhing and squirming as she tried to get even one breathe into her system.  
Not too long after, the Legends appeared, having finally found where Sara was located. They had honestly expected Sara to be there, waiting for them with an irritated look on her face. Nate, not really knowing Sara hadn't known how she would behave, but he had heard enough stories and was looking forward to meeting her.  
What they weren't expecting to be greeted by was Sara's still slightly swinging body hanging from a large tree, limp and lifeless, no movement that could be considered her own there. Ray and Mick stumbled forward, pushing past Nate as he was in the front of the group.  
They stared as she finally came to a stop, spinning a little from the momentum of her swinging with wide eyes, her neck bent at an unnatural angle, clearly broken. Her soulless, lightless eyes seemed to stare right into their souls accusingly as if to ask ‘why didn’t you come sooner? I died because you were too late in showing up.’ Her hands were tied, fingertips were slightly bloody, the same blood on the ropes around her neck. It was clear that she'd struggled before she died, though in that kind of situation, who wouldn't?  
After a few more seconds of looking at her mournfully, Ray snapped out of it.  
"Mick, help me get Sara Lance down," He ordered, walking closer to the lifeless, dead body of his friend. There would be time to mourn later, right now, they could at least let her rest in peace.

Mick and Nate snapped out of it once Ray spoke, and Mick too walked closer to Sara. Together, they lifted her legs until her head fell out of the ropes and carefully laid her down on the ground.  
It was strange seeing the usually so snarky and lovable Sara so lifeless, so still. They'd lost so many teammates already, and just when things seemed to look like they might get better, someone else died.  
The Legends were tired of seeing and/or hearing of all their comrades, teammates, friends, deaths, and they didn't know how much more they could take.  
Ray sighed, standing up, the smile he usually wore had on his face disappearing. He looked around for a few seconds before eventually finding some flowers, they were in a forest after all. He placed Sara's hands over her chest, undoing her bindings, and set the flowers over her folded hands. He then brushed a hand over her face, closing her eyes for her, whispering a quiet, “May you rest in peace forevermore,” before moving his hand away, still  
kneeling next to her.  
This was the least that they could do for Sara after they had failed her so badly. They were supposed to get there in time but, due to some unforeseen accident, they had been late. It was all their fault that Sara was dead, there was no one else to blame.

Ray felt his anger grow when he saw the skin of Sara's neck, pink and rubbed raw, the skin breaking in some places, dried blood, and fresh blood from when they had removed the rope from her neck both mixing together. It was hard and dry in some areas, looking blackened in the setting sun's light, while the fresh blood was wet and coppery to look at.  
Mick sighed at the sight of his friend, wondering how on Earth they would break the news to her family, tell them that their daughter and sister was dead yet again. He wondered if they could handle the heartbreak again when Mick wasn't handling it, and he hadn't even known Sara for very long!  
Nate didn't quite know how to feel. As heartless as it might sound, Nate didn't feel particularly sad at knowing she was dead. This was the first time they had met, regardless of the stories Ray had told him. It was the equivalent of hearing an actor in a movie he'd watched once died. Sure, he felt a little sad, mostly for the family, but it didn't directly affect Nate. He didn't know her so he couldn't feel too upset about it although Nate would have liked to have met Sara once while she was still alive. She had sounded like a fun person to hang out with; at least, that was what the stories from the other Legends had made it seem like.  
Nate closed his eyes for a moment, offering her a quick prayer, and looked over at Mick and Ray. They both had watery eyes, not quite enough to be called teary, but not dry enough to be called normal. Nate supposed it only made sense, they were close to Sara, unlike Nate himself. They all stayed like that for a few more minutes, staring at the ground where Sara's stone-cold body lay, offering her prayers that they could only hope would reach her, before heading back to their ship, heads hung in shame, looking back at where their friend would lie for the rest of eternity.


End file.
